Author's Note: This is my first piece of original slash-fiction. Please be kind and review- constructive criticism appreciated! Character POV indicated in the top left-hand corner.

Chapter One


Dull, dusty lights glittered down onto the dangerously tatty stage.

The crowd stood, sat, lolled uninterestedly about the club, seeming unfazed by the high-pitched wail I'd just let out before Pete, our guitarist, launched into a loud, un-structured guitar solo which made me cringe with embarrassment that we were actually playing this pile of crap in public. Steve plucked lazily at his bass strings, not seeming to care that his bottom E string was painfully out of tune. Rob lashed out at the drums, dropping a stick and fumbling to pick up another. I groaned internally- I mean, I wasn't expecting to be playing with Aerosmith, but still! No fucking wonder we hadn't been signed yet. No wonder we were playing in this dump.

Our set finally ended and I breathed a sigh of relief when some people bothered to clap and cheer half-heartedly, probably just glad to see us finally walking off the stage. Thank god it was over- I could have cried. Why the hell was I still with this bunch of fucking amateurs!? I was bloody amazing, and I knew it. I could do better than this.

"Good show guys… It didn't go too badly this time…"

I turned to stare at Pete, goggle-eyed in disbelief. I could virtually feel my jaw hitting the floor. Who the fuck was he kidding??

"Are you joking? That fuckin' sucked!!" I shrieked, my voice raising several decibels and making him start.

"It wasn't that bad…. I think we're getting better…" Steve offered timidly.

I whipped around to glare at him.

"I can't believe you all! I'm surprised they didn't pay us to get off the stage!"

Okay…. So perhaps I exaggerate a little… I'm sure we weren't unbearable to listen to, but it was still bloody awful. If I had been listening, I would not have been impressed. –Probably would have walked out after the first song.

Rob just rolled his eyes at me.

"Oh, fuck off Rafe… It wasn't that bad and you know it. It wasn't perfect, but this whole experience is a learning process. Once we've had a certain amount of exposure to live performance we'll…"

I tuned out, ignoring the rest of Rob's prattling speech. I could feel my insides burning. I hated Rob, Rob and his 'holier than thou' attitude and shit drumming. Fuck him. I just glared, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut and snaked my way towards the bar, and away from my pathetic excuse of a band.

With a sigh, I reached for my bottle of beer, lifting it up to my lips and tilting my head back to let the cheap, weak alcohol slide comfortably down my throat. Setting it back down on the bar-counter, I leant my head forward to rest in my hands, letting my waves of jet-black hair fall into my face.

"-You were amazing…"

The lilting British accent caught my attention, and I turned to see whom this voice had come from. I found myself face to face with a lanky brunette, his green eyes dancing with what could only be described as an expression of gleeful admiration.

"Are you fuckin' deaf? That sucked, big-time. What kinda fuckin' joke is this?" I snorted.

I turned my back to him once more, focusing my attention on my beer and hoping the guy had gone. No such luck. He pulled out the stool next to me and continued to talk. –Great… This should be fun…

"No, i>you /i> were amazing. I didn't mean those bloody amateurs you were playing with. -I meant i>you /i> are amazing…"

My interest sparked, I turned back to look at him, a smile creeping over my lips. I stuck my hand out to him as means of introducing myself.

"Rafe. Rafe Crewe." I grinned, feeling him take my hand in his and give it a firm shake.

"Dan Maddox… This is fate; I never come here. But now, I'm glad I did. –I've found my singer," he grinned brightly, an almost dreamy expression lighting up in his expressive green eyes.

A little taken aback by his forwardness, I pulled my hand back.

"Uh… In case you didn't notice, I'm kinda already in a band…" I said lamely, watching as he arched a delicate eyebrow in my direction.

"-Can you honestly call that a band?"

The guy had I point, I guess. So I shrugged, figuring 'What the hell? No band can be worse than what I'm already in…' and got up to go tell Pete, Rob and Steve that I'd quit.

And so I'd met Dan.